Odd Companions
by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: When Harry begins at Hogwarts, he brings a disconcerting friend, the Grim Reaper himself. WIP Chapter five substantially added to as of 1st Jan 08!
1. Prologue

When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.

_AN:_

_Inspiration? Think the character of Death in the _Discworld _novels crossed wit hthe basic plot of _The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy.

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**ODD COMPANIONS**

**PROLOGUE**

As the last sounds of destruction faded away and the dust slowly settled, Death stared in mute astonishment. Slowly he moved forward and carefully moved some of the rubble with his scythe. He peered downwards.

A small, worried face with brilliant green eyes stared up at him, a jagged cut on its forehead leaking blood. Little Harry was confused about what was going on, but he knew that it wasn't good. First Dadda had yelled something and run off, and then Mumma had been upset by the scary hissy thing that had done lots of yelling and pretty lights, before there was lots of noise and things falling down.

Harry looked up at the new person with the hope that they could fix things.

"WELL, AREN'T YOU SURPRISING?" asked the man.

"Muh?" asked Harry in an uncertain voice. "Da?" The man didn't answer. "Paff?"

The man leaned down and picked him up, holding Harry carefully to his chest and smiling down at him. The man looked both surprised and sad, but had a nice face.

"Muh?" Harry asked the stranger. "Da?"

"I'M AFRAID YOUR MUMMY AND DADDY ARE GONE, YOUNG HARRY," said the man gently.

"Muh?" asked Harry again. Daddy was often away, but Mummy would never go anywhere without Harry.

Death turned his head at the faint sound of the motorcycle in the distance, growing steadily louder.

"PADFOOT WILL BE HERE SOON, HARRY," he told the boy softly.

"Paff?" asked Harry hopefully.

"SOON, HARRY," Death agreed, setting the infant back down on the floor. "GOODBYE, MR POTTER. IT WAS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU."

"Buh-buh," Harry called out. He waved his chubby little hands in the air happily, but the nice man was already gone.

"Bubbub," Harry said contently.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Five years later, Death swept through the wall into the room to find a large, purple-faced man beating a small boy. The boy was in terrible condition, skinny as a rake and covered in bruises, and it was clear that the large man was the cause of both.

Death frowned. He didn't like child-abusers. So many of those he freed from the Earth were children, and far too many of them were glad to die. He was particularly displeased with this example, because the young boy was none other than the wizard-babe with the extraordinary powers that he had witnessed at the defeat of the Dark Lord. (That was another one he didn't like; that irritating… man? …should have been his long back, but because of some highly irregular spells the git was now flitting round happily possessing snakes. It just wasn't fair.)

His musings were abruptly cut short when Harry caught sight of him with a widening of the eyes and a gasp of fright.

_So he can see me_, Death thought, impressed. Harry had already turned his attention back to his uncle; clearly he believed the current situation to be of more importance than some menacing phantasm, even if it _was_ the Grim Reaper.

_Smart boy._

Death cleared his throat.

Harry swiftly turned terror-filled eyes on him, grimacing as he caught another blow.

"Help me," he wheezed out.

"No one's going to help you, you little freak!" the man hollered. Death decided that for once he was going to break the rules.

"I BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE MISTAKEN, MR DURSLEY."

He watched with interest as the large purple-faced man rapidly transformed into a large white-faced man.

"IT IS YOUR TIME," Death intoned, raising his scythe. Dursley let out a shriek of absolute terror and went bolting down the hallway screaming.

Harry regarded him with awe, and some puzzlement.

"Don't I know you?" he asked politely. Death grinned.

"INDEED YOU DO, MR POTTER."

"Oh." Harry paused. "What's going on?"

"THAT, Death decided, IS A VERY LONG STORY."


	2. New Beginnings

When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.

_AN:_

_This is my first attempt at a detailed, longer story, so please review. It will roughly follow the books to begin with although that might change later on._

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**ODD COMPANIONS**

**CHAPTER ONE**

Two figures stood on the platform, watching the hustle and bustle of the arriving children and their families. One of these figures was a small boy of about ten or eleven, with unruly hair that fell into the bright green eyes that looked out of his small face, eyes that were framed by a pair of small, square glasses. Next to him stood a tall figure in black robes, features obscured by a hood. The small boy was holding the handle of a wheeled trunk with one hand while the other surreptitiously clutched a swathe of his companion's sleeve. The man politely pretended not to notice.

"Do you think they'll be expecting me?" asked the small boy. The man considered the question with his usual thoughtfulness.

"PROBABLY NOT," he decided. "NOT UNDER THE NAME OF HARRY POTTER, ANYWAY. THEY'RE NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH TO WORK OUT THAT YOU WERE ADOPTED AND YOUR NAME CHANGED TO HARRY ALISTAIR."

The boy thought about this.

"They'll work it out when they see the scar, though," he said, slightly anxiously. "And then there'll be a fuss."

"PROBABLY," replied his friend. "DO NOT LET THAT WORRY YOU."

Harry James Alistair didn't answer, preferring instead to watch a group of red-headed children boarding the train. He was a little more than eleven years old, and slightly small for his age, no doubt because of the treatment he had received from his aunt and uncle. Harry Alistair had once been Harry Potter, revered among wizarding folk for being the downfall of their most recent dark lord, yet left to the mistreatment and neglect of his magic-hating relatives. This had continued until he was six years old and reached a stage where he was so emaciated and injured that without treatment he would die. He had been so far from well, in fact, that Death himself had paid Harry a visit.

Death is not the fearsome spectre that tradition paints him to be. He is a tall, thin man with sad, warm eyes and black hair, and a deep love of humanity. He has a fondness for chocolate icecream and a hatred of child abuse. So it was that when he found the small boy in such terrible condition he had broken all the rules, rescuing him and taking him to the nearest hospital where concerned authorities had investigated and found the Dursleys to be unfit guardians. Harry's cousin Dudley had been placed in a foster home, but Harry, who had endeared himself to staff and visitors alike, had been adopted by Lady Janet Alistair, patron of the children's ward.

She had been most surprised when Harry began to be paid visits by none other than the Grim Reaper himself. Still, he was clearly a nice man, even if his voice was… well, like a death knell, to be frank… and since Harry had become attached to him she had allowed the friendship to continue. Besides, Lady Janet was a widow and lived alone with her aging father, and so the occasional male company was not unwelcome. So Harry had grown to be best friends with Death over the years.

A slight cough from his friend reminded Harry of his surroundings. He blushed.

"TIME TO GO, HMM?" Death suggested. Harry nodded quickly and began trundling forward with his trunk, Death keeping pace with him. They approached the carriage on the end and Death lifted Harry's trunk and placed it on board, seeing that the small boy would have trouble doing so. He boarded behind Harry and shut the carriage door.

Harry and Death sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until the door opened and a mildly apprehensive, freckled face peered through.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked uncertainly. "All the other compartments are taken."

"Go ahead," said Harry.

The boy walked inside, pulling his own trunk behind him, leaving the door open. Harry frowned. It was common politeness to shut a door that one had found open.

"Name's Ron Weasley," said the boy after a moment.

"Harry Alistair," said Harry, and left it at that. Ron looked enviously at his well-cut, expensive robes, and the crisp shirt and pants he wore beneath. Even his shoes were shiny.

"Suppose you're pureblood, then?" he asked casually, a hint of resentment in his tone. Death looked at him keenly.

Harry looked surprised at the question.

"Don't know," he replied, shrugging. "My parents died when I was a baby, and my aunt and uncle hated magic, so they never told me anything about my parents. And Mother's a muggle, so I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter."

"Oh," said Ron. He seemed to deflate a little. There was another long silence.

The door opened again and a boy their own age stood in the doorway, flanked by two large, not particularly bright-looking boys. He looked at Ron and Harry assessingly before turning to Harry.

"Mind if I sit in here?" he asked carelessly. "Everywhere else is crowded." Harry raised an eyebrow at the two boys behind him.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he said. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron sniggered. Harry frowned at the lack of manners. Draco looked at Ron disdainfully.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who _you _are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry, who nodded and moved over to make room.

"Harry Alistair," he introduced, holding out a hand to shake. Draco took it, but looked at him frowningly.

"I don't know any wizarding family named Alistair," he said, seating himself and looking suspicious. Harry shrugged.

"The Alistair's aren't wizards," he explained. "Mother adopted me as a child."

"Who were your parents, then?"

"Lily and James Potter," Harry replied. Both Ron and Draco did a double-take.

"_Potter?_" Draco repeated incredulously. "You mean you're _Harry Potter?_"

Again, Harry shrugged.

"Before I was adopted," he replied. "My aunt and uncle were arrested for child abuse, so Lady Janet Alistair adopted me."

Draco thought this over.

"My parents are both purebloods," he said eventually. "Raised by muggles, then? Don't have much idea about magic, I suppose?"

"A little, but not much," Harry replied. "The Alistairs are a good family though, even if we're not wizards. I hope that counts for something."

Draco nodded thoughtfully.

"It should," he responded, having submitted this remark to due consideration. "They're nobility, after all, and your real parents were wizards even if your mother was a mudblood."

He noticed Harry's frown.

"People are going to say it," Draco told him. "I can't help that."

"I suppose not," Harry admitted. "But call her a muggle-born around me instead, okay?"

"Very well," Draco agreed. "But what I'm saying is, you should have the blood as a Potter and the manners as an Alistair. Still, you'll find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Alistair. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Clearly he was making some kind of personal sacrifice with this offer – Harry suspected that people like Draco simply didn't go around _helping_ others; he'd met many – and quickly accepted.

"I'd appreciate it."

Draco gave him a real grin then.

"You can't make friends with him!" Ron burst out. The two boys looked at him, and Crabbe and Goyle frowned. Ron went on, heedless, face slowly filling with red so that he seemed red from top to toe. "I've heard of his family! First to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared, saying they were bewitched! But everyone says his father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side!"

Malfoy turned faintly pink, but it was Harry who stood up, green eyes turned to ice.

"Since you cannot remember common courtesy," he said coldly, "we would prefer that you leave."

"Fine!" Ron spat, red right up to the ears. "Dirty rotten snake! Your parents would be ashamed to see you hanging around with the likes of him!"

Harry flushed deeply and his fists clenched, his eyes no longer icy but blazing with an inner fire.

"My parents," he said evenly, "wouldn't want me hanging around with an ill-mannered, ill-bred creature like you. Leave!"

Ron finally did so, slamming the compartment door so hard that the glass rattled.

"THAT WAS UNCOMFORTABLE," Death commented. Draco stared at him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Oh, that's Death," Harry said casually. "He's my friend."

Draco blinked at him.

"Pardon?"

"Death, the Grim Reaper," Harry said patiently. "Old friend."

Draco swallowed twice.

"Right," he said, a little squeakily. "Figures. Boy-Who-Lived best friends with Death himself."

Harry looked at him with concern.

"It doesn't worry you, does it?"

"Not really, no," Draco reassured him. "I'm sure I'll get over it."

Death turned his head.

"YOU HAD BETTER. WHERE HARRY GOES, I GO."

"Like a plague, a plague, a veritable pestilence," chanted Harry, which resulted in his getting whacked around the back of the head. "Ow!"

Draco snickered while Harry rubbed his head crossly. He was about to speak when a voice echoed through the train.

"_We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately._"

Hastily the boys prepared to leave, Harry making a futile attempt to flatten his unruly hair, and joined the crowd in the corridor.

They arrived at a tiny, dark platform. A lamp bobbed into sight as a voice bellowed "first years! First years over here!"

Harry and Draco, followed by Death, obediently made their way towards the shadow accompanying the voice, which resolved itself into an unkempt giant of a man. The man looked down at them, eyes widening as he looked at Harry.

"Blimey! If it isn't Harry Potter!"

Harry scowled in annoyance as heads turned to stare at him.

"It's Harry Alistair, if you please," he said sharply. "I was adopted five years ago."

The man beamed at him.

"Last time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant man. "Yeh look like yeh dad, yeh do, but yeh've got yeh mum's eyes."

The man was so obviously delighted to see him that Harry curbed his irritation and smiled politely.

"Indeed? I never knew."

He looked astonished.

"What, yeh aunt 'n' uncle never told yeh?"

"My aunt and uncle," Harry said repressively, "were arrested for child abuse after that almost killed me."

The man looked horrified.

"_WHAT?_" he roared, making the first years shrink back. A couple of them screamed. He looked murderous.

"I'll be talking teh Albus 'bout that," he said grimly. "It's an outrage!" He gave Harry one last smile, belied by the anger in his eyes, and swung away, leaving the students to follow him.

"Why were you so polite?" asked Draco as he and Harry walked.

"_Politeness is for everybody_," Harry recited, "whatever their status. Please and thankyou make the world go round, Mother says. What distinguishes the well-bred from the common people is their manners."

Draco seemed to think a lot about that. He was silent all the way across in the boats, right up until they arrived in the entrance hall.

"Never thought about it that way," he said to Harry as they followed a tall, black-haired witch across the flagged stone floor.

"We have a duty towards our inferiors," Harry explained earnestly. "To treat them with courtesy and do what is best for them. It is the responsibility that comes with our superior status."

"Welcome to Hogwarts," announced the witch before either could say any more. She began a short, brisk speech about the school houses, before leading them into the Great Hall.

It was huge, and the air was filled with thousands of floating candles that lit up the hundreds of pale, distant faces that watched them. There were four main tables and one long one at the other end of the hall where all the teachers were sitting. Above it all was a ceiling that appeared to open onto the heavens, although Harry could hear some talkative girl telling someone that it was merely enchanted to resemble the sky outside. Harry was impressed.

The teacher silently placed a four-legged stall in front of the first year students, on top of which she placed a pointed wizard's hat. Harry stared at it, before looking in mute question at Draco.

"The Sorting Hat," Draco whispered, happy to demonstrate his superior knowledge. "Looks inside your head to see where you belong. Father told me all about it. I'm going to be in Slytherin." He nudged Harry. "You better not land in Gryffindor," he added. "Slytherins and Gryffindors don't mix."

He was stopped by the Hat opening a rip in the brim and beginning to sing. _A singing hat?_ Harry thought incredulously. He looked around furtively to see if anyone else happened to notice the utter campness of a singing hat. No one else did. Harry wondered where Death had gone; he would have appreciated the absurdity of it. Although he probably already knew about it, come to think of it.

The Hat finished its song and the black-haired teacher began to call out names. Student after student sat on the stool and wore the Hat, which yelled out a house. Harry was called almost immediately, as 'Alistair, Harry.'

"Good luck," Draco whispered. "Aim for Slytherin."

Harry walked forward on slightly wobbly legs and sat down as the Hat was placed on his head. He saw the witch looking pale and alarmed before the brim slipped over his eyes.

"Hmm," said a voice in his ear. "You're an interesting one. Courage, I see, and not a bad mind either. Talent, lots of talent indeed, and a thirst to prove yourself, and – _a friendship with Death?_" The small voice sounded stunned. Harry smirked. He'd stunned the singing Hat. Point to him.

"That's not very kind," said the little voice, sounding annoyed. "It's a boring life, being a Hat. Any more of that and I'll put you in Gryffindor."

_Do it and die,_ Harry warned, bringing up a nice mental image of Death's scythe shining in the candlelight. The Hat coughed.

"Only joking, of course," it said, but it sounded a bit sniffy. "You're clearly Slytherin material. You could be great, you know, it's all in your head. That friendship with the Malfoy boy is a good start. Slytherin will help you there."

_Just Sort me, please?_

"Very well, don't rush me. SLYTHERIN!" The last word was yelled throughout the hall. Harry joined the Slytherin table amid cheers from his housemates.

After a while it was Draco's turn. The Hat barely landed on his head before it yelled "SLYTHERIN!" Draco slid into the space Harry had saved for him, smirking in a very smug way. Harry smirked back.

"You wound me," he told Draco. "Me? Gryffindor? How could you suggest such a thing?"

Draco snickered.

"Some part of you _has_ to be Gryffindor," he said. "You're Harry bloody Potter." Gasps and narrow-eyed looks from their housemates. "Come on, admit it."

"Well, the Hat did consider it for a moment," Harry admitted, "but I reminded it of my close and personal relationship with Death and it decided that it preferred to remain a _living_ Hat. Said that I was clearly Slytherin material. Do you suppose it gets death threats often?"

Draco burst out laughing, garnering some unpleasant looks. Harry simply gave his patented fixed stare and most looked away. There were some advantages to having eyes so green.

The headmaster got to his feet. He was beaming, arms opened wide, apparently delighted to see them all there. Harry thought that he seemed the very antithesis of a hook-nosed man seated further down the teacher's table, who appeared rather _annoyed_ to see them all there.

"Welcome!" the headmaster cried. "Welcome to a new year Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I have a few words that I would like to say, and here they are: nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

He sat down and most of the houses clapped, with the exception of Slytherin.

"I think he's the oddment," Harry murmured to Draco as the golden dishes in front of them filled. Draco, who was taking a sip of juice, snorted into his glass and had to dig out a handkerchief to wipe his nose.

"That's Albus Dumbledore," he said dismissively, once that was done. "Barking mad. Most of the wizarding world adores him though, so you've got to be careful. Father says he's a cunning, senile old fool."

"I see," Harry said thoughtfully. "He wasn't smart enough to find out what happened to me after I got adopted, anyway."

"You said earlier that they nearly killed you," Draco said, looking curious. "The muggles, I mean."

Harry sighed.

"Most muggles are alright," he told his new friend, "but my aunt and uncle were the absolute worst muggles you can imagine. I was glad when they went to prison."

"Father says that muggles are filth," say Draco. Harry paused, fork near his mouth, and lowered his food again. He eyed Draco sternly.

"Not at all," he almost scolded. "Many are quite decent. Just because they don't have magic doesn't mean they should be treated badly."

Draco didn't say any more, although he looked doubtful. Harry suspected that telling him about his muggle relatives wasn't a good idea if you wanted to preach that muggles were good and decent beings. Ah well. Something to work on.

There was silence for a while as the two boys ate. Harry listened to the chatter around him. People were discussing their families and bloodlines to some degree, he noted, while others were conversing at great length about balls and things that they had gone to over the holidays. Harry had been to a few balls, and for the most part found them rather boring. He wondered if wizarding balls were very different to muggle balls.

He was looking around the hall again when he happened to glance at the teachers (one of whom was, oddly enough, wearing a large turban) when it happened – sharp, searing pain leapt across the scar on his forehead. He clapped his hand to his forehead with an exclamation.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked.

"Scar hurt," Harry muttered so that no one else would hear. "Odd that. It's never happened before." He rubbed it suspiciously. Draco just shrugged and went back to eating.

At last most of the food was gone and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall went quiet, although several of the Slytherins continued talking in low voices.

"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered," the man announced. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

He looked at the Gryffindor table and a couple of redheads grinned back. "I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a painful death."

Harry frowned.

"Thin he's serious?" he asked Draco. Draco frowned darkly.

"Probably," he replied. "Just like him to have dangerous things lurking about the school."

Harry snapped back to attention as Dumbledore asked those assembled to sing the school song. Harry listened to the words with distaste.

Soon afterwards they were following a Slytherin prefect down towards the dungeons. They stopped in front of a patch of bare, damp stone wall.

"_Serpents cunning_," the prefect said in a bored tone. A concealed door slid open and they all trooped through into a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round greenish lamps were suspended by chains. A fire was blazing under an elaborately carved mantelpiece made of what looked like mahogany, lending warmth and brightness to an otherwise slightly creepy room. High-backed, carved chairs made out of the same dark wood as the mantelpiece stood here and there, while a couple of dark-green couches stood against the walls.

The girls were directed down one set of stairs, the boys down another, and Harry and Draco found themselves in a dark, tastefully-decorated room with five four-poster beds hung with bottle-green velvet curtains. As Harry snuggled down beneath the thick covers, he decided that he was going to enjoy it here. His last, sleepy thought was that he just wondered where Death had gotten to.

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_AN:_

"…_didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side…"_

_Very Star Wars-ian, I know, but it's there on page 82 of my copy of the _Philosopher's Stone_, so don't blame me!_


	3. Classes

When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.

_AN:_

_Death's way of speaking – i.e., in capital letters – is borrowed from Terry Pratchett. Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter; I'm trying to follow the rough amount content of each _Philosopher's Stone_ chapter while changing the content to meet this story. So this chapter has the basic events of the equivalent chapter in _Philosopher's Stone_, but not the same details. This resulted in it being unfortunately short._

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**ODD COMPANIONS**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Harry stared doubtfully at the hump of blankets that contained Draco, wondering what to do next. He was neatly dressed, apart from his hair (which was as terrible as usual) and his tie, which had staunchly resisted all efforts at being tied. It was now looped around Harry's neck in a haphazard fashion, and would remain so until Harry found someone who could tie it for him.

Harry looked around the room. Adam Byron and Theodore Nott had already gone down to breakfast, while Blaise Zabini was putting on his shoes. He looked back at Draco's bedclothes again.

"Better wake him up," Blaise suggested, "or he'll miss breakfast." He finished tying his shoelaces and vanished up the stairs. Sighing, Harry yanked the blankets away from his sleeping friend.

Draco yelled indignantly and rolled over into a huddle, eyes still shut. Harry shook him.

"Come on, Draco," he said impatiently. "We're going to be late for breakfast. The others have gone already."

One slit of resentful grey eye looked at him. Draco sat up with a huff, eyes half-open.

"'s't'ly," he mumbled.

Somehow Harry managed to get him dressed, until Draco was sitting on his bed, fully dressed, glaring at his tie.

"Tie," he noted. "how's't'at?"

"Don't know," Harry replied. "Come on, we need to get down to breakfast or we'll miss it!"

The two boys made it to the Great Hall, Harry dragging Draco most of the way. The other Slytherins watched as Harry steered Draco to a seat where Draco promptly folded, his head hitting the table. Harry sighed and sat beside him.

"What's wrong with him?" asked a fifth year boy.

"Just sleepiness," I think," Harry said, inspecting his oblivious friend.

"He's so cute!" tittered one of the first year girls. "He's always like this in the mornings. My family's stayed over at his house before. I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Harry Alistair," Harry returned with a small smile, thinking that Pansy resembled nothing more than a pug.

"Are you and Draco good friends?" Pansy asked. Harry shrugged.

"Not exactly. We met on the train yesterday and hit it off after some idiot named Weasley yelled at me."

Pansy tittered again, but quieted as one of the fourth year Gryffindors strode over, ignoring the patent hostility being sent his way. Students at other tables watched with interest, wondering what a Gryffindor could possibly have to say to a Slytherin.

"I'm not going to bother you, so don't worry," he told the Slytherins brusquely. "Is it true what Weasley's saying, that you're really Harry Potter?"

A hush fell over the hall. Harry scowled and brushed his fringe out of his eyes to expose the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

"Yes it is," he told the Gryffindor stiffly. "Do you mind?"

"Just wanted to know," said the boy. As he returned to his table excited murmurs broke out all over the hall. Harry ate his breakfast moodily, trying to ignore the looks and exclamations.

"_He says he's Harry Potter!"_

"_He can't be, his name's Alistair, isn't it?"_

"_Look! He's got the scar!"_

"_Kind of cute, isn't he?_

"_It's Harry Potter, look!"_

"_Who would have thought he'd be in Slytherin?_"

Harry glanced up only as he saw a black-robed figure entered the hall. He broke into a grin.

"Morning, Death!" he called. Death walked over to join him.

"YOUR TIE IS UNTIED," he remarked.

"I know," Harry replied. "So's Draco's. I couldn't work out what to do."

"LOOK UP," Death commanded. Harry did so obediently and let the man tie his tie.

"Thanks," Harry said as Death sat down.

"YOU'RE WELCOME. PASS THE MAPLE SYRUP?"

As Death helped himself to some pancakes the black-haired witch from the night before – McGonagall, he thought she was called – walked briskly over.

"Mr Alistair, who is this?" she asked sternly.

"Death, ma'am," Harry said. "The Grim Reaper. You know."  
"Don't be ridiculous," McGonagall huffed. Harry nudged his friend.

"I think you'll have to bring out the scythe," he murmured. With an irritated sigh Death stood, towering over McGonagall, and raised his hand. Shadow gathered around it, crackles of blue and purple lightning dancing at the edges. The darkness lengthened, strengthened, coalesced into a long staff with a wickedly-curved blade that shone unnaturally bright. It was clearly a scythe, with remnants of electricity running along it. Death looked down at a startled McGonagall, and when he spoke, his voice was like the booming of great, old bells and filled with doom.

"_I AM DEATH_," he intoned, "_THE REAPER OF SOULS, POSSESSOR OF POWERS BEYOND THOSE KNOWN TO MAN!_"

The enchanted ceiling turned dark with clouds as lightning flashed across the ceiling accompanied by the rumble of thunder. The air turned suddenly cold as a phantom wind picked up and blew through the hall. Ancient, dark power swelled up from where Death stood and the scythe flashed in the little remaining light. Students and teachers alike cowered backwards. Harry tugged on Death's sleeve.

"I think that's enough," he observed.

Slowly the wind died down, warmth returned, the dark clouds cleared to restore light to the hall. The students sat, immobile, staring as Death blew errant particles of dust off his scythe, tucked it into his robes, and sat down to finish his pancakes.

Dumbledore coughed and stood.

"Are you truly Death?" he asked cautiously. Death nodded. Dumbledore thought about this.

"How are you acquainted with Mr Potter?"

Harry scowled at the use of his old name.

"HE PREFERS ALISTAIR. IT IS HIS NAME NOW."

"I apologise, Mr Potter," Dumbledore murmured. "Temporary lapse. But how is it that the Grim Reaper himself is at Hogwarts, eating breakfast with our students?"

"He's my friend," Harry explained. "Ever since he rescued me from the Dursleys and took me to hospital."

"I see," said Dumbledore, although clearly he did not. "You will not be reaping any students, I hope?"

"NOT UNLESS IT IS THEIR TIME."

"Ah. Thankyou." Dumbledore sat down again, clearly bemused.

As conversation slowly started up again, Harry glanced over at Draco to find that his friend had slept through the entire thing.

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Murmurs and pointing followed Harry, Draco and Death for the rest of the day, no matter where they went. People hurriedly looked elsewhere every time Harry glanced in their direction, but went back to staring as soon as he looked away. Some people even followed them halfway to classes in order to get a good look at them. Death didn't appear to notice, but Harry wasn't very pleased about it. Draco was rather annoyed about the whole thing.

"You should have woken me up," he complained for the umpteenth time, as Death navigated their way through the myriad of corridors. He appeared to be quite familiar with the school's layout, although he was forced to keep changing their route thanks to changing staircases and vanishing doors.

Harry sighed.

"You were fast asleep," he said again. "It wasn't my fault."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of it all. He had seemed alright, last night and this morning, but then he and Draco had begun trying to find their way to classes. As if the staring, goggling crowds weren't enough, the castle was filled with peculiarities that could cause problems for the unwary. Nothing in the school appeared to stay the same, what with the moving staircases, vanishing and reappearing doors, portrait subjects that visited each other and bits of building that took on the illusion of being other things. Harry had fallen through a vanishing stair at one point; fortunately Death had been there to pull him out, but all the same it had been a startling and unpleasant experience. Draco had barely noticed; he still hadn't quite woken up at that point.

If Harry thought that making his way to classes was strange, the classes were even worse. He'd had Charms and Transfiguration that morning, and both classes were quite different from muggle schooling. They wrote with quills and ink and copied copious notes, and the teaching approaches were just as old-fashioned, even if they'd gotten to see Professor McGonagall turn into a cat and back and watch tiny Professor Flitwick fall off a stack of books out of sight when both Harry _and_ Death turned up in his classroom.

Just before lunch - which was hearty, and reassuringly commonplace – the Slytherins had had History of Magic with Professor Binns, but Harry still didn't know what that class was like; Binns had mysteriously failed to turn up, and a passing teacher had given them all a free period. Death had been suspiciously unsurprised at the professor's absence. When Harry asked him if he had been reaping Binns the night before Death was rather vague and neither Harry nor Draco could get a straight answer out of him. News of that particular conversation had traveled fast, however, and now all the ghosts were avoiding the trio nervously; even Peeves the poltergeist, who wasn't strictly a ghost and therefore likely to be safer than the others.

Now, Draco snorted at Harry's disclaimer.

"Right," he said skeptically; but since they had reached their destination, the Potions classroom, neither of them said any more but sat next to Death near the door. Professor Snape, the Potions master, was already there, and began by marking the roll. Much to Harry's dismay, but resignation, his name was called first, which meant that Snape was able to remark upon it.

"Harry Alistair," he said softly. "Actually – _Potter_, I believe? My my, we have a – _celebrity._"

The Gryffindors snickered. Snape shot them a slight glare, but kept his gaze on Harry (an interesting feat to observe). Harry kept his face impassive. After a moment Snape looked back at the roll and continued calling names, much to Harry's relief.

Unfortunately it wasn't over. After a rather creepy, if impressive little speech that made Harry resolve never to be alone with such a sinister man, Snape's gaze suddenly swept back to Harry.

"Potter!" he said sharply. Harry suppressed the glare that wanted out. "What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Draco gave Harry a sympathetic look as Harry thought blankly, _how on earth would I know? School's only just begun._

Death moved his head slightly and Harry knew that the man was looking sideways at him. Death's head moved infinitesimally towards Harry's textbook. So it was in the textbook? Something he'd read? Something they'd discussed, maybe?

Just as Snape opened his mouth, it came to Harry.

"Draught of Living Death," he replied blandly, unable to stop himself from glancing at Death beside him. Someone sniggered. Snape glowered.

"I see," he said coldly. " Lucky, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry brightened slightly. His mother's estate had a small farm, where Harry spent a reasonable amount of his time. Not too long ago Harry had been present during a vet's visit, and so had been privileged to hear that gentlemen's rambling discourse on cows, sheep, and goats.

"The stomach of a goat, sir," he said promptly, unable to restrain a smirk this time. Snape looked absolutely livid.

"Difference between monkshood and wolfsbane!" he snapped. Harry thought furiously, but was unable to come up with anything. Snape's eyes glittered in triumph, lip curling into a sneer, and it hit Harry that perhaps it was a trick question. Ah well, nothing to risk.

"None."

Snape's sneer halted.

"What?"

"No difference, sir," Harry said, even-voiced and deadpan once more. Snape's eyes widened incredulously before narrowing into slits that looked positively dangerous.

"I see that you thought it necessary to memorize the entire book," Snape said nastily. "Compensating, Potter?"

Harry caught his breath. He'd actually managed to get all the answers right, and the bastard was using it against him!

Harry's eyes turned to green chips of ice and he looked up at his professor.

"It's Alistair, sir," he said coldly. "And I hardly see what I need to compensate for."

Snape looked furious, but students were beginning to murmur to each other, and so rather than continue the stalemate he whirled around, robes swirling, to glare at them all.

"Well?" he demanded. "Mr Potter has the answers. Why aren't you copying them down?"

As he strode away, Harry distinctly heard the man mutter, "ten points to Slytherin," leaving Harry at a complete loss as to what the man's feelings and motives were.

Harry was left alone after that, although the class wasn't uneventful; some Gryffindor boy managed to melt his cauldron into a twisted, bubbling mass, allowing the potion to spread across the classroom floor, hissing ominously. Harry found himself balancing on a bench with Draco and Death while anxiously watching the potion eat away at the wooden legs. Death cautiously dipped the wooden end of his scythe into the errant liquid, and drew it out smoking and slightly diminished.

"POTENT STUFF," he noted, impressed, shaking his scythe so that it went back to its usual undamaged state. He looked thoughtfully at Snape, who was yelling at the unfortunate perpetrator and his classmates.

"THE MAN SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN UP TEACHING. DUMBLEDORE'S GOING SENILE, ENTRUSTING HIM WITH THE CARE OF VULNERABLE CHILDREN."

Harry and Draco snickered. Death glanced at his watch. Harry stared.

"Where'd that come from?" he asked. Death shrugged.

"FATE MADE IT FOR ME," he replied. "TO HELP ME KEEP TRACK OF WHEN I NEED TO REAP PEOPLE."

"Oh," Harry said. He wished that he hadn't asked. Much as he loved Death, there were some things that he'd prefer that the man kept to himself.

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_AN:_

_Again, sorry it's short. This one isn't my best work, I'm afraid; I'm rather uninspired at the moment. Better quality next time._


	4. The Flying Wonder

**Title: Odd Companions**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present**

**Story Summary:** **When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.**

**Setting: AU first year onwards.**

**Author notes: **

_-edit-_

_slaps head_

_Whoops! Errors in the story details above corrected! That'll teach me to copy and paste. I forgot to edit the details._

_-edit-_

_Yeah, Snape calls him Potter. I'm trying to keep him in character as much as possible. Personally I like the less irrational/petty Snapes, but I'm trying to stay in character, like I said. The only things that are going to change are things that Harry himself has affected, and perhaps Draco's character. Everything else is going to stay as true to the books as I can make it, at least up until book 4 or so._

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**ODD COMPANIONS**

**CHAPTER THREE**

"**THE FLYING WONDER"**

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Harry Alistair had been a most unfortunate child, with an acquaintance numbering a large number of singularly unpleasant people. The worst of these had been his muggle aunt and uncle, and their startlingly obese and ill-tempered son, Dudley. Fortunately Harry no longer had any contact with these people, but whenever he met anyone in the least unpleasant they tended to come to mind as points for comparison.

Harry had never thought that he would meet any boy that he disliked more than his cousin Dudley, and indeed he hadn't, but it was close. Ronald Weasley, the boy that he had met on the train, had continued to harass him and made it clear that Harry was the focus of a great deal of hatred and resentment. So when one of the fifth-year prefects stuck up a notice saying that the first-year Slytherins would be taking flying lessons with the Gryffindors, Harry groaned, knowing that Weasley would view it as an opportunity to torment him.

"Wonderful," he grumbled at Draco. "Simply brilliant. As though I won't have enough trouble, learning to fly a broom, without Weasley trying to make things more difficult."

Draco looked sympathetic.

"If he tries anything, I'll have Crabbe and Goyle pound him," he promised, making Harry laugh. The two 'bodyguards' had, for the most part, been dispensed with, but Draco still occasionally solicited their assistance. "Anyway," Draco added, "for all you know, you could be a brilliant flyer."

Harry shrugged.

"Have you flown before?" he asked curiously. Draco smirked.

"Loads of times," he replied promptly. "I've got my own broom at home, a Nimbus 1700, it came out a year ago…"

Draco was soon off on a long monologue about all the excellencies of the Nimbus 1700, the many adventures that he had experienced on it, and how Weasley thought he was special just because _he'd _almost hit a muggle hang-glider on _his_ broom.

"Probably just an old Cleansweep," Draco added snidely, "and anyway, a _good_ flyer wouldn't have almost hit a muggle, so why Weasley's boasting about it I don't know. To be sure, his brother –what was it? Charlie? – was held to be rather good, possibly even good enough to play professionally, but even if that's true it doesn't mean that _he_ is."

Harry nodded absently. As far as he could tell, most of his housemates, being purebloods, were quite familiar with the art of flight. Blaise Zabini borrowed his cousin's broom whenever he visited her, while Adam Byron had a Comet Two-Fifty that his parents had bought him for his eighth birthday, which he now principally used in playing Quidditch against his younger brothers and sisters, of which he had several.

Harry had of course been lectured, in great detail, all about Quidditch by his housemates. While they had been a little disdainful at first about having a Potter amongst them – particularly a Potter as famous as Harry was – they had soon conceded that his manners were those of any pureblood, and consequently unbent. His friendship with Draco seemed to be of use here, too; Harry wondered if that was the sort of thing that the Hat had meant when it had commented on the relationship. Anyway, the other Slytherins had been surprisingly helpful in letting Harry know about those things that they considered to be indispensable knowledge, and so Harry now had a fairly good knowledge of Quidditch rules and history.

Therefore, when Harry and Draco made their way down towards a long lawn near the Quidditch pitch, Harry was as confident as any inexperienced flyer could be.

The Gryffindors hadn't yet arrived when the Slytherins trooped across the grass to where the school brooms were laid out in neat lines on the ground. Draco sniffed as he looked down at them.

"Really, you'd think that they could provide better brooms than these," he remarked disdainfully. He had a point; even to Harry's ignorant eyes the broom appeared old and shabby; the handles were unpolished and rather worn, while the tail end had twigs sticking out at odd angles.

He looked up as the Gryffindors marched towards them, chattering and laughing, followed by a teacher with short grey hair and piercing yellow eyes.

"Look at her eyes," he whispered to Draco as she barked at everyone to stand by a broom, "they look like a hawk's."

"Maybe she's an Animagus," his friend muttered back, "some people's appearances change after they master the transformation. I wouldn't be surprised if she could turn into a bird; I mean, she's the flying mistress."

"Stick your right hand out over your broom," Madam Hooch called, oblivious to their speculation, "and say 'up!'"

"Up!" the class obediently chorused. Harry's broom shot smartly into his hand at once, although Draco's broom was rather more recalcitrant; most people's broom barely moved at all, although Harry was charmed to see that Weasley's broom levitated so hastily that it smacked him in the face.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to properly mount their brooms before walking up and down the rows correcting their grips. Draco was much mortified to find that he'd been holding his broom wrong for years; Harry joined him in shooting dark looks at the much-amused Weasley.

"Be surprised if he knows how to fly at all," Draco muttered.

"Now," Madam Hooch continued, "when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

But before she could blow the whistle, the Gryffindor boy that had melted his cauldron in Potions had pushed off hard and went rising up like a cork shot out of a bottle.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch bellowed; but the unfortunate boy was some thirty feet above their heads by now, gazing down in distracted terror. A moment later, after a panicked attempt to correct his broom, he overbalanced and fell straight to the ground below.

Harry winced as Madam Hooch hurried over to where the Gryffindor lay in a heap on the grass. Some of the Slytherins were snickering unkindly.

"Broken wrist," she pronounced. "come on, boy, it's alright, up you get." She addressed the class as she helped the boy to his feet.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" she ordered. "You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'"

As soon as they were out of earshot Draco burst into laughter.

"What an idiot!" he whooped. Harry, who had some sympathy for the injured boy, frowned at him, but the other Slytherins joined in laughing.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped a Gryffindor girl. But Malfoy wasn't paying attention; he'd darted forward to snatch something out of the grass.

"Look!" he cried triumphantly, holding up a glass sphere that glittered in the sun, "it's that stupid thing his Gran gave him!"

"Draco!" Harry snapped, but was drowned out by a red-faced Weasley's furious roar of "Give it here, Malfoy!"

Draco gave a nasty smile.

"I think I'd rather leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about up a tree?" Before anyone could stop him, he'd jumped on his broom and was zooming towards a nearby oak.

Harry hissed a savage oath under his breath and took off after him. A quick push and he was in the air, automatically making the adjustments to go soaring after his friends, a detached part of his mind noting that Draco was right; he _was_a brilliant flyer after all.

He pulled up with a jerk in front of his friend, who gazed at him with mingled irritation and surprise.

"Give it back!" Harry hissed at him. "He was injured! This is a rotten thing to do!"

It was clear that Draco failed to understand Harry's motives. He glared blankly. Harry lunged. Draco swung sideways, nearly fell off his broom, and dropped the ball.

Harry gave a long, frightening hiss and dove.

The air was whistling in his ears, the scenery on each side of him blurred with speed as he sped forward, eyes intent on the small object before him. He was almost vertical, and if he hadn't been going so fast he would have come off his broom for sure. Above the wind Harry could faintly hear screams, but didn't notice; the ground was rushing up towards him, towards the ball, and he had to catch it before it hit –

A couple of feet before the ground Harry caught the ball and yanked his broom ninety degrees, coasting a foot above the ground as he slowed to a stop.

Harry rolled off his broom and onto the ground, holding the ball up to the ground to examine it.

"_HARRY POTTER!_"

At the sound of the female scream Harry looked up quickly to see Professor McGonagall running across the grass towards him. Uh-oh. But what made him really groan was the sight of a tall, black-clad figure striding swiftly across the grass towards him.

Harry got to his feet just as Death reached him.

"_HARRY!_" Death bellowed. Lightning was dancing around his scythe, a sure sign that he was deeply angry. "_YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!_"

"Oops," Harry said weakly.

"YOU ALMOST _WERE_ KILLED!" Death continued to holler. "I FEEL SOMEONE'S TIME RUNNING OUT AND TURN UP TO SEE YOU DIVING STRAIGHT TOWARDS DEATH!"

He had grabbed Harry by the collar and was shaking him. Harry rolled his eyes sideways to see McGonagall arrive, puffing, clearly speechless. He looked back up at his friend.

"I'm sorry!" he told Death, his voice trembling a little in reaction, the adrenaline beginning to disperse. "But Draco dropped it and I couldn't let it break!"

"Let what break?" asked McGonagall furiously. Harry gulped and held out the ball.

"It's Longbottom's, professor. He had to go off to the hospital wing and left it behind. I couldn't let anything happen to it!"

"And what," asked McGonagall, clearly disbelieving, "was it doing fifty feet in the air?"

Harry tried to think of some explanation that wouldn't get Draco into trouble, and came up blank. Fortunately, he heard running footsteps, and looked around to see Weasley approaching.

"It was Malfoy, professor!" he told McGonagall breathlessly. "He stole Neville's Remembrall!"

Professor McGonagall gave Harry a long, considering look.

"I see." She appeared to pull herself together. "Well, Mr Potter," she began briskly –

"Alistair!" Harry cried indignantly.

" – yes, well, Mr Alistair, you and I are going to go see your Head of House this very moment. Count yourself lucky if you don't get expelled."

Miserably Harry followed the professor, Death following. A short distance away Draco was watching with a stricken face, but Harry didn't look at him. It was all his fault.

Professor McGonagall knocked on the classroom door and opened it.

"Severus," she greeted him. "Could I spare a moment?"

Snape looked away from the third-year he had been intimidating and over towards the door. The sight of a blank-faced Harry behind her made his lips thin. He strode over to the door and shut it behind him.

"Potter!" he snapped, glaring at him. "What have you done?"

It was McGonagall who responded.

"Mr Alistair took a fifty-foot dive to catch the Remembrall he is holding," she said sternly. "I understand that he was recovering it on behalf of a classmate after Mr Malfoy stole it. I suggest, Severus," her tone was acid, "that you get to the bottom of the matter."

"Thank you Minerva." Snape's voice was a curt dismissal. She nodded and left. Harry looked up into the Professor's face to see an inscrutable look.

"Fifty feet I believe she said, Potter?" Snape asked softly.

"Yes, sir."

"Since you appear uninjured," he drawled silkily, "I infer that you landed safely."

"Yes, sir."

He seemed to come to a decision.

"Come with me."

Snape left the dungeons, Harry in tow. They stopped in front of the Charms classroom where Severus knocked and went in.

"Filius," he drawled. "I need to speak to Mr Flint."

Without waiting for Professor Flitwick's assent a large Slytherin boy got up and joined Snape and Harry outside.

"I've found you a Seeker."

Flint looked incredulously at Harry, who looked coolly back, hiding the sudden hope that sprang up.

"He's kind of small," Flint said critically. "Right build, though. He might do."

"He caught that thing in his hand," Snape said casually, a slight smile hovering around the corner of his mouth, "after a fifty-foot dive, and landed safely."

Flint stared at Harry, who gazed back.

"Tryouts are on Monday," Flint said crisply. "Get yourself a broom. We'll see how you are then." He nodded to Snape and re-entered the classroom.

Harry found that Snape was looking at him with a most disquieting expression.

"Repeat this stunt," his voice was sleek and positively dangerous, "or enact any others like it, and you will find yourself leaving this institution, Mr Potter. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Harry responded meekly.

"You may return to your class."

Harry stayed in the corridor a moment after the man left, leaning against the wall and privately thanking whatever deity was looking out for him. Hopefully it would protect him from Death.

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"I'm really sorry," Harry said again. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Death glared. Harry sighed.

"I promise I won't do it again," he said in a small voice.

"YOU HAD BETTER NOT," Death threatened, "OR I WILL KILL YOU." Harry chuckled weakly.

Death suddenly seized him in a hug.

"NEVER, EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN, YOU CRAZY BOY," he scolded fondly, ruffling Harry's hair.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "_Death!_ Men don't hug!"

Death ignored him, continuing to walk with one arm wrapped around Harry's small shoulders. Harry grumbled a little, but otherwise pretended not to notice. Who would have thought that the Grim Reaper could be so embarrassingly sentimental?

Harry and Death went into dinner without Draco. Death didn't ask; no doubt he already knew exactly what had transpired to make Harry mad at him. Harry didn't say much as he helped himself to the roast, not until Draco flopped into the seat beside him and regarded him tentatively.

"Go away," Harry said in a voice devoid of warmth. Draco gulped.

"I'm sorry," he said timidly. "I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

Harry didn't dignify this with a response, just kept eating as though Draco wasn't there.

"I didn't really think," Draco continued after a moment. "It was a mean thing to do, I know, and I'm sorry about that, too."

Still Harry didn't answer. Draco sat and watched him helplessly.

"Please, Harry?" he pleaded softly. "You're my only friend. I couldn't bear it if you stopped."

Harry's fork was lowered and he turned to look gravely at his friend.

"You really need to work on your attitude," he said seriously. "When it comes to consideration for others, I find you sadly deficient."

"Help me be better, then," Draco suggested hopefully. "I'll try, I promise."

Harry thought about it, then gave his friend a smile, putting the matter behind them.

"Guess what happened when I saw Snape?"

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The day after next both Harry and Draco received mail. Draco's was a letter from his father and a bag of sweets from his mother, while Harry received a large square package from Lady Janet that was brought by a small flock of owls. While Draco dived gleefully into a packet of chocolate frogs, ignoring Harry's recommendation that he wait until after breakfast, Harry set about untying the string that held the parcel together.

He was pleased to see a letter from his mother on top, but put it in his pocket to read later. Underneath was a set of books that made Harry's eyes gleam. Lady Janet had obviously managed to make her way into Diagon Alley, as each book held content relating to the magical world. Harry was amused, knowing that Lady Janet had probably accosted some poor witch or wizard and cornered them into taking her through into the alley and showing her around, but was touched as well. He had a look at the books.

_A Potion Master's Comprehensive Guide_, proclaimed one thick tome. Lady Janet had obviously decided to encourage the interest in Potions that he had mentioned in his letter. Harry moved onto the second. _Quidditch Through the Ages. That should be useful_, Harry mused. The next book had a post-it attached, reading simply, _For Death._ Harry passed the wizarding myths and legends book to his friend, who snorted when he saw the cover, but advised Harry to thank Lady Janet on his behalf.

"Sure," Harry assured him, looking at the last and final book. It had a plain black cover, and was without visible title. Curious, Harry looked inside.

_Wizarding Genealogy: The Potters,_ it said, with a small _self-updating_ underneath in smaller letters. He turned the page and was surprised to find that the book was composed not of individual pages, but was an immensely long piece of paper featuring a family tree, which had been folded and had one end affixed to the cover to that it could fold inside for neat storage.

Harry found Draco peering over his shoulder.

"Oh, I've got one of them," he said conversationally. "For the Malfoys, that is. The self-updating spell wears off every fifty years or so, so you have to buy a new copy every now and then, but overall they're pretty good value."

Harry flipped the book to look at the back cover, opening to pull out the most recent end of the family tree.

_James Henry Potter – Lily Rose Evans_

_b. 2 June 1960 b. 26 April 1960_

_d. 31 October 1981 d. 31 October 1981_

Underneath that ran a single line that led to one name:

_Harry James Potter_

_b. 31 July 1980_

_d. 31 October 1981_

_d. 22 June 1986_

"_Death!"_ Harry screamed. Heads turned, but he didn't care. "This book says I've _died! Twice!_"

Draco leaned over.

"Weird," he observed. "I've never seen that before."

Harry glared at Death. Death coughed.

"IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING, I SUPPOSE," he conceded. "YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED, CERTAINLY, BUT, UH… SOMETHING WENT WRONG."

Harry glared, unappeased. Death decided to expand on this.

"SOMETHING TO DO WITH FATE, TIED INTO YOUR MAGICAL CORE," Death explained. "I TRIED ASKING HER ABOUT IT ONCE, BUT SHE JUST SNAPPED AT ME THAT THE ONLY ONE WITH ANY RIGHT TO KNOW WAS YOU AND IF I WANTED YOU TO KNOW I SHOULD BRING YOU TO SEE HER SO THAT YOU COULD TALK TO HER YOURSELF." He shrugged. "I ARGUED THAT AS DEATH YOUR AVOIDANCE OF DEATH CAME UNDER MY JURISDICTION, BUT SHE POINTED OUT THAT SINCE YOU HADN'T ACTUALLY DIED CLEARLY I WAS MISTAKEN. SHE WAS LOOKING RATHER LIKE ATHENA AT THAT POINT, SO I DECIDED TO QUIT WHILE I WAS AHEAD."

Harry and Draco both considered this.

"Does that mean I'm immortal or something?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"NOT EXACTLY. I'LL TAKE YOU TO SEE FATE SOME TIME. SHE CAN EXPLAIN IT TO YOU."

Harry shrugged and shelving the matter for the moment, carefully tucked his genealogy book into the pocket of his robe before flipping through _A Potion Master's Comprehensive Guide. _When Draco pointed out an editing error in his edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages, _Harry promptly forgot all about the issue in a spirited debate on whether his or Draco's copy was the best. Death simply sat reading his book and eating pancakes, quietly enjoying some time to himself.

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**AN: I know where this is going, but if anyone wants to make any suggestions, be my guest.**

**Also, would anyone be interested in reading a prequel/side story to this?**

**Review replies:**

**SSC: **Nope. Never heard of it.Thanks for the praise.

**Ice's Shadow: **It's borrowed from Terry Pratchett's Death character. When Death speaks, it's very ominous and resonant and with a kind of otherworldly, sinister echo behind it. I thought that was neat and so I used it in this.

**Ater Phasma: **Thanks. I thought Snape was the kind of person who is always annoyed to see children present, even if they're supposed to be there. I've met people like that. They're often grumpy and drink vast quantities of coffee. :)

**Kewlausgirl**: Death can make himself seen if he wants to be, but his natural state is that he is unseen to mortal eyes. So when he's with Harry or someone else he makes himself perceptible, but when he's alone he drifts back into the 'present but unsensed' mode. In that state, only gods, deities, immortals and those mortals who are somehow screwed up in a way that shouldn't exist. Harry's ability to see him is related to the fact that Harry should have died as an infant but didn't. It is highly likely that Voldemort is also in the same box as Harry in a lot of ways, so a Death/Voldemort encounter would be interesting.


	5. Troll! Troll!

**Title: Odd Companions**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present**

**Story Summary:** **When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.**

**Setting: AU first year.**

**Author notes: **

_Finished this the same day I went into hospital with appendicitis. Still, I can post it up now, so…here it is. :)_

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**ODD COMPANIONS**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"**TROLL! TROLL!"**

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When the Slytherin Quidditch team tryouts came on Thursday, Harry was ready. He had sent an express order to Nimbus Brooms Ltd – the school subscribed to the Pericles Portkey Mail Express System where for a sickle per letter you could send mail by portkey to a central office from which location staff would personally deliver your letter (it was rarely used by students, being both expensive and requiring teacher permission) – for the latest model, and sure enough Harry's new Nimbus 2000 had been delivered to his head of house's office during the previous weekend. After telling Harry that the school wouldn't usually bend rules like this for him, and that his fame didn't make him special, Snape had reluctantly allowed him to collect it, and for half an hour afterwards all the boys in Harry's dorm had crowded around him admiring it. Draco had made Harry promise to lend it to him some time.

Harry had been nervous about trying out for the team, but he needn't have worried; all the others who tried out for Seeker were pretty much hopeless, and Harry was accepted into the team as the newest Slytherin Seeker.

Thursday afternoon, after Harry had been congratulated several times, Harry escaped to the library for some quiet reading. While he was discovering the restorative properties of kingsfoil (not particularly interesting, but useful) a first year girl staggered from between two bookcases with an enormous pile of books, dumped them on the nearest table, and settled down to read. Over the next few minutes Harry glanced at her several times, curious. She wasn't especially pretty, having bushy brown hair and slightly protuberant front teeth, but there was an intelligence shining out of her eyes that made her somehow attractive. She was a Gryffindor, Harry knew; she had distinguished herself in every class the Slytherins and Gryffindors had together with an encyclopedic knowledge, and every time he went to the library he found her there reading avidly. This was enough to rouse his interest. Finally Harry stood up and walked over to her table, determined to find out more about her.

"Hello," Harry said politely, "I'm Harry."

The Gryffindor girl blinked several times to bring her eyes back to their normal focus and looked up, eyes instantly widening in recognition.

"You're Harry Potter!" she exclaimed. "Well, Alistair, now. I read about you. You're in _Modern Magical History _and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._"

Harry blinked.

"Really? I ought to look them up, then."

By now the girl's eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

"What are you doing over here?" she demanded warily. "You're a Slytherin, aren't you? And you hang around with that Malfoy boy. You probably think the same as he does. What do you want with me?"

"What do you mean, 'the same as he does?'" Harry asked, although he suspected that he already knew. The girl sniffed.

"All the pureblood supremacy nonsense, of course. He's called me all kinds of names."

"Has he now?" Harry resolved to have a talk with Draco at the first opportunity. "Well, just ignore him, his manners are atrocious. Personally I have no time for any of that rubbish; I mean, my Mother's a muggle, you know." He smiled at her. "What's your name?"

She eyed him for a moment with a peculiarly pericing stare that reminded him of the Transfiguration teacher before deciding to reply.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she told him. Harry smiled widely.

"Well hello, Hermione. What are you reading? It looks interesting."

Harry spent the next half hour discussing books with Hermione, during which time he firmly decided that he liked her. She was an intelligent conversationalist, he soon discovered – indeed, that was an understatement – with a mind like a steel trap and an equally strong personality. In some ways she reminded him of Mother. Eventually the conversation turned to less academic channels.

"I came in here to look up the Cerberus," Hermione explained, "because Ron Weasley, that idiotic readheaded boy, do you know him? went down the third floor corridor in spite of what Professor Dumbledore told us, which I think was incredibly foolish of him, and swears he ran into a three-headed dog that tried to eat him."

"So he ran into a Cerberus?" Harry repeated, eyebrows raised. "In a school? What would they have one of _those _here for?"

"I know, it's incredibly thoughtless of them," Hermione agreed. "But you know, it says in _Hogwarts: A History _that in older times Hogwarts was often used as a fotress and occasionally house valuable objects that were kept safe by Hogwarts safeguards, so I wondered, what if the dog is guarding something?"

Harry frowned, deep in thought.

"It's possible, I guess, but then what's it guarding?"

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The next class that Harry had with Hermione was Charms with Professor Flitwich on Halloween. As they entered the classroom Harry greeted her cheerfully.

"Hi, Hermione!"

Hermione looked rather startled for a moment before her face lit up with a brilliant smile and she waved at him from across the room. Beside her Weasley scowled; she'd madethe mistake of picking a seat next to him. During the lesson Harry felt quite sorry for Hermione over this; Weasley was utterly hopeless, and when she tried to help him (albeit quite bossily, but then who would waste time being nice to Weasley?) he snarled at her in a display of bad temper that Harry found spectacularly rude. As the class ended and students packed up their things, Weasley rejoined his friends and said loudly, "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly! Did you hear the way she was going on at me?"

For a moment Hermione stood there, looking absolutely crushed; then her face crumpled and she ran, eyes filled with tears.

Harry's eyes blazed brilliant green in anger. At that moment he'd never hated anyone more than Ron Weasley. He was an imbecile, ill-tempered as well as inept, and most importantly had just made one of Harry's friends cry. Harry walked right up to the idiot, grabbed him by the shoulder and punched the daylights out of him.

"What the hell??" Weasley bellowed, cluctching the eye Harry had punched and turning an ominous red. The other Gryffindor boys bristled, and Flitwick gave a scandalised squeak of "Mr Alistair!" but Harry paid them no heed. He stood over Weasley, glaring at him with eyes like twin spotlights that bathed the boy in faint green light.

"Hermione is worth ten of you," Harry said in a dangerously even voice, "and don't you forget it. Insult her ever again and you'll find yourself in a world of pain."

Weasley just gulped and nodded, staring up with a kind of terrified, fascinated horror. The fire in Harry's eyes slowly died, and the light left them, leaving them their normal emerald green.

"What did you do that for?" Draco asked later, after Harry had been awarded detention and ten points had been docked from Slytherin. "I mean, she's just a mu-_uggle_born."

Harry turned on him menacingly and Draco stepped back, remembering the way Harry's eyes had glowed back in the classroom.

"No one," and Harry waved an angry finger in Draco's apprehensive face, "is just an anything, Draco Malfoy. Hermione is my friend."

Draco just nodded and Harry stalked to their next class, wearing a scowl worthy of Snape.

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Harry cheered up a little at the Halloween Feast that evening. The Grat Hall had been appropriately decorated with live bats and jack o' lanterns, while Death was in a festive mood and in true Halloween spirit had come in his Grim Reaper guise. None of the Slytherins would sit next to him, and the nearest students kept shooting him nervous looks.

Harry's good mood was ruined, however, when Quirrell, the cowardly DADA professor, sprinted into the Great Hall looking terrified and gasped out, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know." He followed up this dispiriting speech by falling to the floor in a dead faint. Death peered at him with a slightly hopeful air, but lost interest when it was clear that the man was merely unconscious.

People began screaming almost immediately after Quirrell's words, and the headmaster had to fire several fireworks from the end of his wand before he could get the student's attention.

"Prefects, lead your houses back to their dormitories immediately!"

In the ensuing chaos Harry tugged on Death's sleeve.

"I think I'll stay with you," he confided. "It has occurred to me that going down to the dungeons, the same location as the troll, is perhaps not the best idea." Draco agreed.

Harry, Death and Draco were the last people to leave the hall. On the way they passed the unconscious Quirrell, still sprawled out on the floor, who seemed to have been forgotten in all the fuss.

"Do you think we ought to do something about him?" Draco suggested, experimentally nudging him with one foot. "I mean, not that I particularly care, but if the troll gets him we'll have no one to teach us Defence."

Death stared down at the prone man oddly.

"LEVITATE HIM ALONG WITH US," he said finally. "SOMEHOW I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE HIM UNSUPERVISED." Harry obediently levitated him and together they left the hall, Quirrell's head lolling like a puppet's.

Within a few minutes, however, the three heard a terrified, distant scream echo down the corridors. Harry immediately ran towards the sound, wand out, Quirrell forgotten. As Draco and Death immediately took off in pursuit, no one noticed Quirrell groan loudly as he hit the stone floor, nor that he got to his feet and dusted himself off before walking briskly away, showing none of the typical signs of a recent faint.

Harry heard the scream again and this time he was able to trace it to the girls toilets nearby. He peered inside, and what he saw made him gasp.

"It's Hermione!" he told Death as the deity and Draco caught up with him. "The troll's got her!"

Death drew himself up, the light glinting on the blade of his scythe, which suddenly looked very sharp.

"LEAVE IT TO ME," was all he said.

As Harry and Draco watched anxiously Death strode into the bathroom gripping his scythe. At the sight of him Hermione's screams increased in volume as she misinterpreted his presence. The next instant Death's scythe flashed in the torchlight and the troll's decapitated head rolled along the ground, while its body slowly toppled and hit the stone floor with a quiet _boom._ Harry ran forward.

"Are you okay?" he asked Hermione. Behind him Death calmly tore off some toilet paper and wiped the blood off his scythe. Hermione gave a shattered sob and flung herself at Harry, bustign into tears all over his shoulder.

When the teachers finally arrived it was to find Death and Draco watching Harry comfort a sobbing Hermione, while a headless troll bled all over the floor.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" McGonagall burst out, clearly very angry indeed, while Snape examined the dead troll and Quirrell leaned against a wall clutching his chest. "You're lucky you weren't killed! Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape sent a swift, piercing look at Harry. Harry, still with Hermione in his arms, gazed coolly back before addressing McGonagall.

"It occurred to us," he explained in his politest tone, the one his Mother used to depress pretension, "that since the Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons, where the troll was, that maybe it would be better to seek shelter elsewhere."

"We heard someone screaming," Draco put in, "so we came to see what was happening and found the troll trying to kill Granger. Death killed it."

The three teachers turned to stare at Death, who gazed solemnly back.

"I see," McGonagall said slowly. "Well, Miss Granger, if you're not hurt at all, you'd better get of to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their common rooms. Severus, I'll leave you to deal with these two."

Hermione gave Harry one last hug and left, McGonagall not far behind. Harry and Draco were left standing there while Snape stared at them, his expression unreadable. His gaze rested particularly on Harry, who looked back, face blanked of all expression.

"That was very stupid of you," Snape said eventually. Harry blinked. He hadn't really thought about it.

"Well," he shrugged, "most of my life's been fairly risky, so I don't really think about it. Besides, I've already died twice, and nothing happened, so I'm not that afraid of dying anymore."

Death frowned at this attitude. Snape's face battled to keep from showing curiosity.

"Twice...?" he repeated, turning it into a question. Harry nodded.

"By Voldemort," Snape twitched perceptibly, "when I was one, and then by my uncle when I was six. That's how I got to know Death. I'm some kind of weird anomaly, or something."

"You'd better return to you dormitory," was all that Snape said, after a moment; but after the two boys left he gazed unseeingly at a spot on his forearm for a long time, deep in thought.

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Somehow, by the next day the entire school knew that Harry Alistair and Draco Malfoy had save Hermione Granger from a troll. The other Slytherins were disgusted.

"A Gryffindor _and_ a mudblood," Rookwood, a seventh year, grumbled at breakfast, while even Zabini said that for Slytherins it was awfully Gryffindorish behavior. After twenty minutes of this Harry and Draco became quite irritated.

"As a fellow member of the exclusive club of people with an intelligence level somewhere above sea level," Harry snapped finally, "I felt that it was necessary to save her if I wanted to experience an intelligent conversation ever again." After that he others left them alone, although they continued to shoot the boys dark looks and mutter among themselves.

Consequently, as they left the hall, Harry was glad to see a diversion in the form of Nevill Longbottom, the clumsy Gryffindor boy who blew up his potions every lesson and had been in the accident in the flying lesson. Harry rushed forward, dragging Draco with him.

"Hi!" Harry said brightly, making the boy jump. "Longbottom, right? I'm Harry." Harry shook his hand warmly, while Neville looked confused and slightly scared. "Draco has something to say to you."

"No I don't," Draco protested. Harry glared at him.

"Ah, that is, I'm sorry for being mean to you," Draco caught on, managing to look suitably contrite, "even though it was kind of funny."

Harry unobtrusively stood on his foot.

"Funny, but wrong," Draco corrected hastily, wincing slightly. "So I would like to make amends and hope that henceforth we can be friends." He paused as he realised he'd just inadvertently rhymed.

"You know," Harry said cheerfully, "you really ought to try and be a bit more confident. I mean, you're frightfully good at Herbology, aren't you? You should astand proud!"

"Lift your head high and don't slouch!" Draco reccommended, getting into the spirit of things. "Tell yourself, 'I am capable and confident.'"

" 'I am a Longbottom, hear me roar!'" Harry added helpfully.

"What on earth are you two doing?" a voice demanded from behind them. The two turned away from Neville, much to his relief, to see Hermione standing there looking disapproving.

"Trying to befriend Neville," Harry explained, "Although I don't think it's working."

"You're incorrigible," Hermione told him sternly. "Honestly, you're as bad as the Weasley twins."

"No one could be as bad as the Weasley twins," Draco told her. Harry looked around to see that Neville had sneaked away while they were talking. He sighed.

"I suppose we'll have to finish befriending Neville another time. How are you, Hermione?"

Hermione sniffed.

"All the other Gryffindors are talking about is the upcoming Quidditch match," she complained. "And they don't know who the new Slytherin Seeker is, so they keep having long, boring conversations about who it could possibly be. It's excriciating."

Harry and Draco smirked. Hermione looked between them suspiciously.

"You know, don't you?" she demanded. "Who is it? Tell me!"

Harry grinned.

"It's me," he confided happily. He and Draco smiled in satisfaction as Hermione stared incredulously.

"But the last first year to get into the house teams was Benjamin Allworthy, in 1888! It says so in _Hogwarts: A History_!"

Harry just grinned.

**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**This is probably the longest HP story I've actually written, simply because I haven't run out of ideas. Whenever I want to write a new chapter I just sit down, read the equivalent chapter of **_**PS**_**, plan out a chapter summary, and suddenly I have enough material to write a chapter. I'll post up the next chapter as soon as I've had a chance to type it all out on PC.**

**Review replies:**

**Werewolf of Suburbia – ** I _will_ be introducing other gods and goddesses – keep an eye out for the Christmas chapter! - from various origins. And yes, the conversation between Fate and Harry will happen shortly.

**LandUnderWave – **I tihnk that for the books JKR used an alternative translation, 'Flight _of_ Death.' But amusing idea. I'm sure that Death and Voldie will meet eventually. And I have seen one other 'Death comes to Hogwarts' story - "Something Grim This Way Comes," which I believe is by Ruskbyte. It's a 'Harry Potter/Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy' crossover, and definitely worth a look, even if you've never seen the tv series.

**Lilz – **The self-updating book is based on magical law, not muggle, and magically Harry is still a Potter. Yes, well, events will change, according to everyone's reaction re: Harry the Slytherin, but I see those as being influenced by Harry himself, albeit indirectly. The further we get into the story, the further ti will diverge from canon. And no, no one talked to Death about Binns – I mean, if Death wants to do something, who's going to tell him not to?

**Kewlausgirl – **Yes, Harry's going to knock some civil behaviour into Malfoy even if it takes him years. Harry's been brought up with a strong sense of duty and politeness and takes them very seriously – unlike the Malfoys, who don't really see any social responsibility attached to their status. If you're into historical comparisons, it's rather like the attitude of the English lords vs. the French lords prior to the French Revolution.

As you can see, Harry's run into Hermione, and has decided to politely bully Neville into acting more confidently in much the same way he's making Draco more well-behaved. Neville will probably be an ongoing project for the two. :)


	6. Christmas Approaches Part 1

**Title: Odd Companions**

**Author: TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel**

**Pairings: None at present... I mean, geez, he's only eleven!**

**Story Summary:** **When Harry Potter begins at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he brings a rather disconcerting friend with him – Death.**

**Setting: AU first year.**

**Author notes: **

_**IMPORTANT NOTICE**_

_For those who read this chapter when it was first posted, it has had a substantial amount added to it! Remember I said there were two pages I was putting in the next chapter? Well, I decided against that and am rewriting this chapter, as it was originally meant to be.__ So re-read this one before you read the next chapter, as it has important plot information._

_Oh, and I've removed the jillions of typing errors that were in this before. Sorry._

_**END NOTICE**_

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**ODD COMPANIONS**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"**CHRISTMAS APPROACHES"**

**PART ONE**

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

The day of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match dawned bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages, the air noisy with cheerful speculation about the morning's match. Everyone was upbeat and excited – everyone but for Harry, that is.

Harry sat at the table staring morosely at his breakfast while a zombie-like Draco – today was one of his bad mornings – tried to convince him to eat some of it.

"Needteet," Draco mumbled, jabbing a finger in the vague direction of Harry's plate. He was holding one eyes open with his left hand in an effort to keep himself awake, but it didn't seem to working; after a moment his head rolled forward to plop into his bacon and eggs, much to the amusement of his housemates.

"You think he can breathe like that?" Adam asked in tones of intellectual curiosity.

"Oh, he'll be fine," Pansy dismissed his concerns, "he did that all the time last summer. He'll need to _scourgify_ his face, that's all."

Meanwhile Death was watching Harry with faint sympathy.

"YOU NEED YOUR STRENGTH," he advised.

"I'm not hungry."

"IF YOU DON'T EAT, I'LL FEED YOU."

Harry looked up in alarm; sure enough, Death was wielding a fork in a fashion that was faintly menacing. The last thing that Harry wanted was to be baby-fed in front of the entire hall.

"I'll eat! I'll eat!"

Somehow Harry managed to get everything down and head off to the locker rooms to get changed; by eleven o'clock most of the school was in the stands around the pitch, and Harry was filing out of the changing rooms with the rest of the team over the vast, green expanse where the other team was congregating.

-

"Now I want a nice, fair game, all of you," Madam Hooch said crisply. She seemed, to Harry's faint indignation, to be speaking more to his team than the Gryffindors. Still, considering the look in Flint's eyes, perhaps it was justified. That didn't mean it was fair, though. The Slytherins got a raw deal from everyone.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry climbed onto his Nimbus. With a sharp, loud blast from Madam Hooch's whistle, fifteen brooms shot in every direction.

"Well, this is a surprise – Slytherin's mysterious Seeker is none other than Harry Alistair, the Boy-Who-Lived. Unexpected move there – first first year to make the team since the 1890s, if I recall – time will tell if his position's due to talent or celebrity – ooh, nice move from Gryffindor Keeper Wood there..."

-

Harry glared balefully at the commentator's box for a moment before taking off in search of the Snitch, faintly aware of the game going on several metres below him. Down in the stands Hermione Granger clambered across to the Slytherin stands where Draco had at last woken up somewhat.

"Mind your own business!" she shouted as she joined Draco to yells of "mudblood!" and "Gryffindor tart!"

"Hello," Draco said as she sank into the seat next to him, grumbling about supremacists and snakes and baseless prejudices. "I don't thin I've ever seen a Gryffindor barracking for Slytherin before."

"Don't be silly," Hermione reprimanded, snatching his pair of omnioculars and scanning the sky, "I'm only here because you're the only sensible person in our entire grade apart from Harry."

"Can I have my omnioculars back?" Draco demanded, looking irritated; clearly he wasn't used to people who behaved like he did.

"In a minute," Hermione answered, still watching Harry. He was currently diving for his life as the Weasley twins belted a Bludger in his direction. "Goodness, they shouldn't do that, he's only a first year. Those Bludgers could kill him."

"What?" Draco asked, even more annoyed; but Hermione had given a small cry of alarm.

"Give that here!" Draco snatched the omnioculars and peered up at Harry, just as his broom gave a violent lurch and started to roll over and over in the air.

By now the Slytherins were roaring that the Gryffindors has jinxed Harry's broom, while down on the pitch his teammates used the distraction to shoot a goal past the Gryffindor Keeper.

-  
"_Could _the Gryffindors have jinxed it?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Couldn't have," Draco muttered, swearing as Harry's broom jerked wildly and he fell grabbling onto the broom with one hand at the last minute to dangle helplessly. "It takes powerful Dark magic to interfere with a professional-standard broom, my Father told me. You'd have to be an adult wizard to do that kind of thing."

At his words Hermione yanked the omnioculars back again, but this time stared frantically out into the stands.

"What...?"

"Look!" She shoved the omnioculars back into his hands. "Look at Snape!"

Sure enough, Professor Snape stood in the teacher's stands, eyes fixed unblinkingly on Harry as he muttered under his breath.

"That's insane!" Draco said hotly; but Hermione had taken off towards Snape, intent on action.

Meanwhile Harry was still hanging from his broom by one hand as several people on brooms attempted to rescue him. The Slytherin team was still taking advantage of the chaos; Flint had scored five times in the last ten minutes without anyone noticing.

As Draco watched, Harry was suddenly able to hoist himself up onto his broom; looking around he saw a commotion in the teacher's stands centred around Snape, while in the row in front Professor Quirrell was being helped to his feet by two other teachers. Out on the pitch there was a faint, distant shout - "I've got the Snitch!" Harry waved wildly – and the game officially ended in complete confusion.

**888888888888888888888888**

Twenty minutes later Harry was ensconced in a corner of the school kitchens with Death, Draco and Hermione, being fed a strong cup of tea laced faintly with firewhiskey. Harry sat quietly as Draco and Hermione argued.

"Snape tried to kill Harry!" Hermione insisted.

"Look," Draco snapped, "he might have his faults, but he's my godfather and I know he wouldn't actually curse a student!"

"And I know a jinx when I see one," Hermione countered stubbornly, "and that was a jinx! You've got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn't blinking at all, you saw him!"

After several minutes of this, Harry felt revived enough by his tea to interrupt. He cleared his throat. Draco and Hermione turned to look at him.

"Look," he said patiently, "Snape might not like me, but I'm sure he wouldn't actually try to murder me. I know what you saw, Hermione, and I know how it looks, but all the same I'm not quite convinced. I think there's something missing here. I'll be careful around Snape, but it just doesn't seem like something he'd do, killing me in the middle of a Quidditch match."

"A Gryffindor in the middle of a Quidditch match maybe, if it were Weasley," Draco added helpfully, "but if he were going to kill Harry he'd either do it in a deserted corrider or something with nor witnesses or he's poison him with something that couldn't be traced."

Harry paused in the act of sipping his tea. Death patted his shoulder reassuringly.

**888888888888888888888888**

Not long afterwards December came around, and the Christmas holidays approached. Hermione was staying with her family for most of the holidays; Draco, like Harry, was going to visit his family for a few days over Christmas before returning to Hogwarts for the remainder of the holidays. The week before Christmas, Harry was eating breakfast when he was delivered a letter addressed in an unfamiliar hand. Curious, he opened it at once.

-

_'Dear Harry,'_ it said in a most untidy scrawl, _you're probably not knowing who I am, but I was a friend of your parents and knew you back when you was just a little tyke. I'm Keeper of Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts, but I haven't had a chance to say hello, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about how you're doing. Send us a reply back with the post owl._

_Rubeus Hagrid'_

_-_

Draco peered over Harry's shoulder, nose wrinkling with distaste.

"Are you going to go?" he asked, his opinion clear.

"Might as well," Harry replied. "Got a quill?"

Harry borrowed Draco's quill and wrote a quick reply underneath, which he sent off with the post owl.

"I'm sure he's a very nice man," Harry told Draco. Draco snorted. Harry sighed.

Three o'clock came, and Harry duly made his way down to the groundskeeper's hut, dragging Draco along with him. Harry knocked on the door, only to set off a frenzy of barking inside.

"Back, Fang,_ back_," boomed a voice. Harry and Draco exchanged uneasy glances. A moment later the large hairy face of the groundskeeper appeared in the door as he opened it, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black dog.

"Hang on," he greeted them cheerfully. "_Back,_ Fang."

As the giant man did his best to settle the dog, Harry and Draco walked inside. There was only one room inside, a great round room with a massive bed in one corner and a large table in the middle of the floor. There were hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, and a bright copper kettle boiled over the open fire. It was quaint and oddly comfortable, and Harry rather liked it. He breathed in the smoky smell from the hams.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang. The dog bounded straight at Draco who went down with a startled "hey!" and a loud crash.

"This is my friend Draco," Harry told Hagrid politely, while Draco yelled, "This is assault! Assault, I tell you! I'll have you arrested!"

"'Ere now, get off 'im, Fang," Hagrid scolded and with one great arm hauled the dog off the spluttering boy. Harry tried not to grin at the sight of Draco sprawled on the floor, face pink and hair mussed up. Hagrid hauled him to his feet and Draco sat sulkily at the table muttering about vicious beasts and law-wizards.

"A Malfoy, eh?" Hagrid asked as he poured water from the kettle into the teapot, sparing a glance in Draco's direction. He sounded vaguely disapproving.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "He's not usually this disagreeable. I don't think he likes dogs."

The groundskeeper looked surprised at the idea that someone might not like dogs. He plonked mugs full of tea in front of the two boys, and a large plate of rather inedible-looking cakes, before seating himself in one of the oversized chairs.

-

Harry found himself being watched intently by crinkled, smiling black eyes.

"Well now, Harry," Hagrid said happily, "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh look like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

Harry blinked. One of the things about growing up with the Dursleys was that he'd never known anything about his parents; indeed, until he was adopted, he hadn't even known their names.

"What'd they look like?" Harry asked curiously.

"Blimey, don't you know?" But before Harry could take offence, the large face softened into a very kind smile. "Well now, yer dad was a lot like yeh, same build an' hair an' everythin'. Right troublemaker he was, but a heart 'o' gold. An' yer mum, well there weren't anyone like Lily. She had jes' beautiful red hair, thick an' dark, and the greenest eyes yeh'd ever see. She was right clever, Lily was, with a real temper if yeh got her riled up." Hagrid chuckled. "Yer dad always seemed to be on the wrong end of it."

"I saw a photo of her once," Draco put in helpfully. He'd forgotten his earlier displeasure in his interest in the conversation. "She was really beautiful. Father always used to say it was a pity she was a muggleborn."

Hagrid shook his head darkly.

"Yer dad always put too much stock in blood if yeh ask me, Draco."

-

The conversation went on to other topics, and it soon emerged that Hagrid had an interest in animals of all kinds.

"Have you met the Cerberus on the third floor, then?" Harry asked slyly. Hagrid dropped the teapot. Draco yelped and scooted away from the wave of tea that spilled over the tablecloth in his direction.

"How d'yeh know about Fluffy?" Hagrid demanded, hastily mopping at the table with an enormous handkerchief.

"_Fluffy?_" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, he's mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year -leant him to Dumbledore to guard the – "

"Yes?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Now, don't ask me any more," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is. Now listen to me, both of yeh – yer meddling in things thatr don't concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, an' it's none of your business!"

Harry and Draco meekly dropped the subject; but later, after they left Hagrid's hut, Draco said,

"That's interesting. Flamel's a famous alchemist. I wonder what he has to do with this?"

"He's a what?"

Draco explained alchemy to Harry, who spent the next hour in the library. Suddenly things looked very intriguing indeed.

**888888888888888888888888**

A few days later Harry was back at the Alistair estate with Lady Janet and her ageing father, preparing the house for Christmas.

"Help me pin up this tinsel," Harry instructed. Death obligingly helped him decorate the ceiling with tinsel and streamers before the two went off to lunch.

Lord Alistair spent much of the meal complaining about his arthritis, while Lady Janet suggested various remedies. Harry waited patiently for a break in the conversation.

"Well I got you that anti-inflammatory cream, Father," Lady Janet sighed, vaguely disapproving, "it's not my fault that you simply refuse to use it, is it?"

Her father huffed and muttered something. Harry cleared his throat.

"Mother, do you think that after lunch Death and I could visit Diagon Alley to do some Christmas shopping?"

Lady Janet gave him a piercing look, but nodded.

"As long as you're presentable and haven't left your room a mess, I don't see why not," she agreed. One of the maids came in with the tea then, and Lady Janet spent several minutes pouring a cup for everyone. Harry grinned at the maid, who winked back. Most of the staff had been there several years, and Harry knew them all fairly well.

"Emily," Lady Janet asked her, "is Harry's room tidy?"

"Yes my lady," the maid nodded, "he tidied it this morning."

She didn't mention that she and Lucy had helped. She had a soft spot for the little sweetie.

"In that case, Harry, you may visit Diagon Alley, but be home by four."

Harry bounced in his seat, making his grandfather ask irritably if he'd eaten Mexican jumping beans for breakfast.

Harry just grinned at him.

-

After lunch Harry and Death Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. Strictly speaking, the manor wasn't supposed to be connected to the Floo as it was officially a muggle residence, but it was amazing what a personal visit from Death could get authorised. So Harry and Death Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry promptly fell flat on his face with a startled look.

Death hauled him up by the back of his robes and dusted the small boy off.

Harry batted him away irritably and headed for the back exit, grumbling about the inconveniences of public transport.

Harry headed to the bookstore first. Hermione's gift was easiest; as long as it was book-shaped, she would probably like it. Harry wandered around looking at the various titles, before settling on _Germanic Runes and their Modern Applications _and a dictation quill. While he was there he also got a herbology book for Neville; after all, he was trying to befriend him, and he got the impression the boy wasn't particularly popular.

Harry sighed gloomily and tried to think what to get his mother, his grandfather, and Draco.

Eventually Harry found an odd little shop in Knockturn Alley that sold exotic teas and coffees and tobacco. For Lady Janet Harry decided to get a sweet-smelling black tea and a green one named, rather absurdly Harry thought, 'Sun Temple Under Heaven' tea, along with an oriental-patterned tea caddy. For Lord Alistair, who occasionally smoked (a habit he'd picked up during the war) he purchased a set of cigars whose smoke would manifest a vivid purple and smell of violets. Harry knew that the cigars were just the sort of thing his grandfather would find secretly amusing; it was quite likely he'd take to smoking them in the evening just to annoy Lady Janet with the smoke.

-

That left Draco.

"I have no idea what he'd like," Harry said desolately. He had half an hour left in which to buy cards, wrapping paper, and his friend's present.

"HE'S _YOUR_ FRIEND," Death pointed out. "I HAVEN'T THE FAINTEST IDEA."

Harry's brows knitted together in thought.

"Maybe he'd like a pet?"

"NO. NO PETS," Death said firmly. "NUMBER ONE RULE OF PRESENT-BUYING. NEVER BUY SOMEONE A PET WITHOUT CHECKING WITH THEIR FAMILY FIRST."

Death could still remember the time Asclepius had given Zeus an Aitviras. That would have been fine, except that Hera passionately loathed snakes and Asclepius' gift had led to utter pandemonium as Hera tried to kill the magical serpent while it tried desperately to escape. No, pets did not make good surprise presents.

Harry wandered further down Knockturn and Death hastily caught up, giving the evil eye to anyone who might be thinking of accosting his charge. Death's evil eye was quite effective; two cloaked figures hastily withdrew while a hag selling dubious-looking foodstuffs passed out completely.

Harry wandered into a store selling second-hand knick-knacks. Of course, this being a wizarding store, the knick-knacks were far from ordinary. Harry stared in fascination at a silver spindly thing like a mechanical spider as it sat on top of a dusty old tome, humming softly.

"Look at these!" Harry presently called from the back of the store. "I found swords!"

Death obediently rejoined Harry, who was gazing at a glass case covering the back wall. There were many beautiful weapons on display, but Harry had eyes only for one: a slim, deadly sword with a hilt inlaid with black mother-of-pearl and an intricate silver snake wrapped around it, with two emeralds for eyes.

Death tried to hold back a groan. The last time he'd seen that sword it had been buried in Godric Gryffindor's shoulder as its owner died of a thrust through the heart. What made things even worse was that the sword held a powerful spell designed to help the sword return to its owner's bloodline – a spell that was right now calling fiercely to Harry.

Apparently Harry was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Bloody wonderful.

"I want this sword," Harry decided. "Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

Death looked at the bared fangs of the silver snake round the hilt and refrained from comment.

"THAT SWORD IS SEMI-SENTIENT," he said instead, sourly. He could guess who was responsible, too. Meddlesome goddess! What was she up to now?

"Awesome," Harry enthused, apparently unaware of how potentially dangerous the sword could be.

"YOU WERE LOOKING FOR A PRESENT FOR DRACO," Death reminded him.

"Oh, right," Harry agreed, tearing his gaze from the sword for a moment. He returned to wandering around the shop until he found a dagger that, according to the notecard beside it, when used cursed its victims with random involuntary translocations until the proper antidote was given – a combination of a counter-curse to stop the translocations themselves and a potion to neutralise the trigger. Harry ended up buying the dagger for Draco (along with details of the curse and its antidote) and the sword for himself. Death's worries about the nature of the sword were pushed aside by the more pressing problem of how to make sure that Lady Janet didn't discover that her eleven year old son had bought a sword while under his supervision.

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Omake:**

**Athena left her father's birthday part whistling cheerfully to herself. **

**Watching her father's disconcerted stare at the sight of an eccentric gift: 50 denarii. Watch her stepmother go into hysterics as the gift mysteriously got loose: 100 denarii. A free magical serpent that'd scare her stepmother every time Athena visited her father: priceless. **

**Athena made a mental note to send Asclepius and Eris thank-you cards.**

**AN:**

**Next chapter Christmas comes, Harry visits the Malfoys, get unexpected visitors of his own, and finds out some important things.**

_**Zeus – King of the Greek/Roman gods. Father of Athena.**_

_**Hera – his wife.**_

_**Athena – goddess of wisdom, bit of a warlike one. Child of Zeus, but not Hera.**_

_**Asclepius – god of healing, and also of snakes.**_

_**Eris – goddess of strife and discord. Her greatest joy is making trouble.**_

**And so the first of the real deviation from the books begins…**

**No there will be no pairings in the near future.**

**For those who want to know why Death speaks in caps: it was something I stole from the Death in Terry Pratchett's books. Death is not shouting; his words are kind of echoing and exist on several planes instead of just the usual one. His speech is ominous and carries unworldly depth. No, I am not going to change it, even if that would get me more readers. It is how it is and it will stay how it is! If I have to put this at the end of every blasted chapter I will get even more annoyed! Read these notes, people!**


End file.
